My First Circuit Design
Was a complete failure
After a summer of working as an unpaid intern at a music recording studio in the early 80s, I enrolled in the electrical engineering program at my home town’s vocational college, The New Hampshire Technical Institute. I wanted to learn about things that a lot of men already seemed to know, like how electronics worked, and to get more training so I could get a real job in the competitive music business.
Still interested in music technology, I chose to design and build an audio amplifier for my capstone design project, required for an ASEE degree.
Since, in those days, the Tech didn’t yet have computers for circuit design, I had to sketch out a design in my notebook. I wrote pages of calculations and chose analog components such as resistors, capacitors, and inductors. I transferred the design to a blank circuit board, using tape for wires and stickers for electronic components, and used equipment in the Tech’s fabrication lab that chemically etched out the copper around the tape and stickers. Then I used a drilling machine to create holes so that I could plug in the components.
To solder the component leads to the copper wires, I held a hot soldering iron in one hand, the tip positioned on the component pad, and held a spool of lead solder in the other hand to feed the melting solder onto the now-hot pad. Solder needs to be the perfect temperature so that when it hardens it looks shiny, the sign of a good electrical connection between lead and pad. The process required some dexterity to keep the pad at the right temperature as I struggled to feed it with the spool of solder that retracted as it melted. I examined the dull spots and holes in my soldered connections and hoped the circuit would work.
I connected a signal generator to my fully assembled circuit board and used an oscilloscope to examine signals at various places in the circuit, comparing the result to the expected volume and shape from my notebook calculations. I worked alone at a bench in the school lab. Absorbed, I paid little attention to the other students working on their projects, some of them teamed up, some alone.
Nothing worked as expected.
I re-did calculations and chose new components. I walked over to the rework bench, heated up the old component pins with a soldering iron, used a “solder sucker” to free the component from the circuit board, replaced it, and re-soldered.
In fact, I didn’t have a deep understanding of my own circuit design. Unlike digital circuits, which use logic to switch gates and are easier to comprehend, analog circuits use continually changing wave forms and need a solid grounding in electromagnetic physics and integral calculus. I got good grades in those classes but it was a mental leap to apply those theoretical concepts to real-world circuits.
I probably wasn’t the only one who struggled but I wouldn’t know because I didn’t ask.
If I’d been working with other women in the lab, I suspect there would have been more chatting, more collaboration, and more help. If I’d been less self-reliant, and asked the guys for help, they may have been eager and gracious.
Out of time and ashamed, I finally went to my instructor and confessed that I couldn’t get it to work.
“That’s OK,” he said. “You’re not the first. I’ve seen your work and you’ll get partial credit.” 😌
Despite that ‘C’ in my senior project, I finished the program with a good GPA. I felt eager to get a “real” job, make some real money and save towards my next goal, The College of Recording Engineering in San Francisco.
As my brother drove me to graduation, I watched my home town go by the window. Everything looked tired and washed out, with the sun muted by high clouds. I never had a mentor there, or a strong role model, or even a teacher who cared. I was the only one of my friends with enough motivation to get a college degree.
I made my way onto the stage when my name was called, tripped, dropped my hat, picked it up, and then accepted my diploma.